


Fear, and all his friends

by Raindropsonmyeyelashes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Boggarts, Gen, Hogwarts, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 05:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15478278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raindropsonmyeyelashes/pseuds/Raindropsonmyeyelashes
Summary: Five Times Draco Malfoy came face to face with his Boggart, and the one time he didn’t have to face it alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a work in progress and there will be 6 chapters in total. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The first time Draco Malfoy had come face to face with his worst fear, he had been nine years old and spending the night at the Manor with the three people he’d later call his best friends.

Gregory was the tallest and even at nine years old he held the promise of future strength. As well as muscle, puberty was already brimming under his steadily-blemishing skin, so anyone who looked at him knew that the dark hair on his head would soon start sprouting in strange, new places. As for Vincent, size was also his most notable feature- he wasn’t tall, but he certainly made up for it in width. It was fair to say that Draco looked laughable next to them. Lucius Malfoy also looked laughable next to Crabbe and Goyle Senior, but he made up for it with cold stares and sneers. One flick of his cloak and stab of his cane shrunk the two men right down to size. So, Draco became used to the comments about his size from his father’s companions and instead of trying to build muscle he knew would never come, he worked on his staring and sneering. Once, his father had entered the garden where the three of them were playing a dumbed-down version of Quidditch. The orders Draco were shouting had barely left his lips, but he had turned around to find his father smiling. It was more of a smirk than a smile but it was the closest Draco had ever seen him look to ‘proud’ and he basked in it.

One evening, his father’s meeting had gone on longer than expected. This had happened a few times before and it simply meant that Draco would be offering his bedroom to the other boys for the night. Instead of three, there were four of them this time- he’d never admit it, but Draco liked Blaise much more than Vince and Greg, yet he was never around as often as them. Blaise wasn’t loud or boisterous and he was content to sit and read with Draco, while Vince and Greg couldn’t sit still for more than a minute and had probably never finished a book between them in their whole lives. Draco found that he could actually have something resembling a conversation with Blaise, whereas he’d only receive grunts and non-committal shrugs in response from the others. That, and Blaise didn’t make him look like he was going to break in half whenever he stood next to him.

That particular night, after they had been washed and dressed in spare pairs of Draco’s pyjamas, they’d decided to explore the Malfoy library. Draco fought an urge to laugh when he caught sight of Vince and Greg- he’d never seen them in pyjamas before, let alone silk ones, and they’d had to go through various charms to get them to fit. Whilst Blaise’s only had to be lengthened in the arms and legs, Vince and Greg’s had to go through a complete transformation. After having exhausted every other source of entertainment in the manor, they were in desperate need of something to occupy them. Blaise had suggested telling ghost stories and Draco had shivered, but said nothing, as the others agreed excitedly.

Ghosts were not something Draco liked, although he wasn’t about to admit that to his friends. His batty grandmother’s tales of haunted souls coming back to seek revenge on those who had wronged them still sent unrestrained shivers down his spine. Draco had often wondered why the only sense that woman seemed to speak was when she was scaring her only grandson out of his wits. He dreaded the day she died, if only because of his fear of seeing her crooked face floating above his as he slept. He’d started to have nightmares, swearing he could hear whispers within the walls of the manor. Sometimes, his mind drove him to such distraction that he found himself leaping out of bed, searching for the comfort of another human. It was luck of the draw, really. If he found his mother, she’d follow him into his room and sit by his bedside, reading aloud his favourite stories until he nodded off sleep. If he found his father though, he’d just hand him a cold vial of dreamless sleep and send him back to bed without a word. Draco had begun to wonder how long it would be before his father refused him the potion, instead replacing it with a look of disappointment and a muttered _Malfoys don’t have nightmares._

Draco tried to forget all of that as he led the way to library, followed closely by Blaise while Vince and Greg dragged their feet like large, lazy bears behind them. Draco lit the fire as soon as they broke through the threshold (he’d made Blaise go in first in case something was lurking around the corner, waiting to jump out at them) and watching the marble roar to life momentarily warmed the chill that was beginning to prickle along Draco’s body. Like everything else in Malfoy Manor, the library was huge. Its walls were lined with (now dozing) portraits and every nook and cranny was occupied by a bookshelf, filled to the brim with every genre imaginable. The only sources of light, apart from the fire at the front of the room, were the lanterns they each held in their hands as they searched high and low for a book containing ghost stories. The search took so long in fact that Draco was beginning to think (hope) that there weren’t any in the library at all, but Blaise’s soft ‘aha!’ that sounded not long after put a stop to that train of thought.

Blaise insisted that they stay in the library to read, so before Draco had even thought to protest they were huddled in front of the fire in a small circle, with the book open in the centre of them. Blaise read aloud and Draco tried to hide the fact that he jumped out of his skin every time one of the portraits gave a particularly loud snore. Eventually, Draco stopped entertaining the idea that his father would finish his meeting in time to stop him from having to listen to any more tales, and he began to look around the room whilst trying his best to block out the sound of Blaise’s voice. But every shadow cast by the light of the dancing fire morphed into something horrifying under his blue-eyed gaze, forcing him in his fear-induced state to turn his attention to the story.

By the time Blaise had snapped the leather-bound cover of the book shut, Draco was proud of himself for remaining in the room for the duration of it. At first he thought he’d been successful in hiding how scared he was, until Vince and Greg insisted that he should be the one to venture into the darkness of the library to return the book to its original place. Draco had tried to protest, saying _no I absolutely won’t do it_ as harshly as he could, but his words nor his sneer lacked their usual vindictiveness as the lantern in his hand began to tremble and sweat began to seep along his brow. When Vince and Greg started calling him names, Draco, in a sudden burst of desire to prove himself, wrenched the book out of Blaise’s hands and dashed into the darkness.

He regretted it instantly.

He had no idea what section of the library he was in and the darkness seemed to swallow him whole, the lantern he was holding struggling to say illuminated under the weight of it. He was tempted to leave the book on the shelf in front of him, but the light of the lantern told him that the section belonged to poetry only and he knew his father would reprimand him for being so careless. So, he fought past the fear and forced himself to ignore the shadows as he turned a corner, and another, and another.

He heard the rattle of the cabinet before he saw it and he was so focused that it didn’t even register in his mind at first. But when it did, he froze on the spot; his nails digging into the leather of the book so hard he was surprised it didn’t tear. Out of the corner of his eye he saw _something_ materialise behind him. A tall bookshelf blocked his passage, meaning that he couldn’t run forwards- a cold sweat formed on his clammy skin as he realised that to escape he would have to run past whatever was behind him. Draco could see a grey reflection and despite his crippling fear he knew he would end up trapped here, a prisoner to the thing at his back, all night if he didn’t move. Later, he’d wonder how he managed convinced himself to turn around, but he did- very slowly, his body twisting before his head could catch up.

When he caught sight of his grandmother’s transparent face, horrifyingly deformed in the way only death could do, the scream was ripped out of his throat before he could even consciously think about it.


	2. Chapter 2

“This class is ridiculous.” Draco says, turning to look at Blaise, who is stood next to him in the corner wearing an equally unamused expression. To an outsider, they were the stereotypical image of a couple of rebellious teenagers, with their sleeves rolled up as they leant against the wall, refusing to partake in the class activity. Draco thought it was bad enough having to endure Defence Against the Dark Arts with the Gryffindors for a third year in a row AND having to watch Saint Potter beat him in literally everything. The icing on top of that cake was walking into the classroom on the first day of lessons only to find that your teacher was in fact a werewolf. Yes, Draco knew about Professor Lupin. Even if his father didn’t have a particularly strong hatred for lycanthropes (which is why he isn’t going to tell him who his new professor is as he does have _some_ human decency), his godfather is Severus Snape- who just so happened to brew a large amount of Wolfsbane potion every month, around about the same time his defence teacher takes a few days off. Not that Severus has ever explicitly told him this, mind, but Draco is the best in his class at potions for a reason (even better than Granger, he’s pleased to admit) and he knows the traces of Wolfsbane when he sees them in the bottom of a cauldron.

Blaise laughs at his choice of words, the loud rumble of excitable chatter making Draco strain to hear him. In all honesty he hadn’t even been listening to Professor Lupin explain the assignment, electing to remove himself from the centre of attention as soon as the word ‘demonstration’ had been uttered, meaning that he really has no clue what’s going on until the Longbottom boy stands in front of a rattling wardrobe and out pops his godfather. He barely hears the boy admit to his fear of their potions teacher, before a memory pops into his head. A memory he hasn’t thought of in _years_. It’s of himself, trapped in a maze of bookshelves, with a deformed manifestation of his grandmother lurking behind him. With that memory comes the realisation that the werewolf is teaching a banishing charm for boggarts. Draco hadn’t even known what a boggart was until four years ago, after the incident in the library had encouraged his father to deliver a selection of books on the topic to his bedroom, while his was still under solitary punishment. But he had found the books boring and dull, evidently failing to retain any of the information they provided.

Draco came out of his thoughts just in time to see a snake transform into an equally horrifying clown, before Potter steps up. Draco rolls his eyes. _We all know what this is going to be,_ he thinks. He’s sure he isn’t the only one surprised (or maybe relieved) when the image of the Dark Lord they’d all been expecting doesn’t form. Instead, it’s a dementor. Draco has always found dementors foul and was equally as unhappy as the rest of the school when Dumbledore confessed that he had allowed them to guard the grounds in case the escaped convict Sirius Black decided to come snooping (why he would do that, Draco truly didn’t know) but he hadn’t been expecting Potter to be afraid of them. He had half been anticipating the boggart to be unable to manifest- surely the Boy Who Lived wasn’t afraid of anything? _He’s just like the rest of us then,_ Draco thought when Professor Lupin, in a flash of green cloak, got rid of the boggart himself and declared the class dismissed.

That didn’t stop Draco from loitering in the hallway, waiting for the professor himself to leave. He’d told Blaise, Vince and Greg that he was going to the bathroom and would meet them for lunch later; but truly he was curious. He’d long abandoned his fear of ghosts (a good thing considering Hogwarts was full of them) and hadn’t stood in front of a boggart since. Would he be a Malfoy if he didn’t make the most of every opportunity?

Once the room was empty, the rest was easy. The wardrobe that this particular boggart had nested itself inside was still in the centre of the room, locked away with fastenings around the handle. Draco released the ties easily with a flick of his wand and braced himself, over-come with a sudden anxiety as the creature twisted and turned in a ball of colours before stopping. Draco blinked and his father blinked back at him.

Draco was met with a bout of confusion. Surely his own father couldn’t be his greatest fear? Could he? Draco stared ahead at the man he had known his whole life and was filled with dread. He tried to deny it- convince himself that it was the boggart’s magic that made him scared, but as he took a step back, his father began to shout. Draco did the one thing he did best: he ran away, hoping that the image of Lucius Malfoy would be gone by the time Professor Lupin got back to his office.

Later in the day, Draco returned to his dormitory and was met with the sight of a letter on his bed. When he saw who it was from, his heart rate increasing rapidly, he knew that the boggart had been right.


	3. Chapter 3

Draco wasn’t an idiot. He knew, before most people even considered it, that the Dark Lord would return. He also knew that his father was in accordance with him, had been from the beginning even, and when he did rise again his son would be expected to do the same. That realisation had been followed by a lengthy inner battle- Draco knew, deep down, that he didn’t really want to follow in his father’s footsteps. He didn’t want to be a slave to the Dark Lord, but he knew that if he didn’t he’d bring dishonour to the Malfoy name; he’d be abandoned by family and even killed. He shivered involuntarily at the thought. He had to do this and, he realised, there was no way out for him. Not unless Potter- _no. Don’t think that._

Draco realised that, if he was to survive the Dark Lord’s return, he’d have to be brave. That was not something he was particularly good at- his primary ‘fight or flight’ instincts largely favoured ‘flight’ and he had not yet become versed in ignoring the hammering in his chest when he was scared. _Potter clearly has,_ he thinks as he watches the Golden Boy (he internally scoffs at that nickname) emerge from his tent, dressed in Gryffindor red and ready to battle a dragon. A literal dragon. Of course Potter would manage to get around the rules of the Triwizard Tournament; if Draco didn’t know better he’d think someone put him up to it; but nevertheless it could prove to be a perfect opportunity for him. While everyone else was preoccupied supporting Potter, there was a lot less focus on him.

Which made it very easy for him to get back into the castle. Whilst some students had decided to remain inside, everywhere was pretty much empty. There was not a single student in any of the corridors he turned down, so he didn’t even have to be cautious when he removed the tapestry covering the entrance to the Room of Requirement. Draco had read about the room in _Hogwarts: A History_ long before he had even started the school himself, but he had failed to secure the knowledge of its true whereabouts until last week, when Vince and Greg had finally left him alone long enough that he could actually leave the Slytherin dormitory without anyone trailing behind him. He stood in front of the door and closed his eyes, visualising exactly what he wanted to be inside when he opened the door. He had no idea if it had even worked when he stepped through the threshold- the room seemed to be empty, save for three chandeliers hanging low on the ceiling, their light reflecting in the mirrors lining the walls. It wasn’t until he heard the rattle that he knew his pleas had been successful.

The boggart he had summoned was nested inside a small black chest, which continued to shake frantically until Draco stepped close enough for it to transform. This time, he wasn’t surprised by what was stood in front of him- but he was, to say the least, absolutely terrified. The Dark Lord, even in boggart form, was horrifying to look at. Draco, like most people, had never seen his face, so the boggart simply filled in parts of the features that were missing in Draco’s mind with black smoke that seemed to curl around the hooded figure like a demonic entity.

The first time, Draco had just stepped away- far enough that the creature was forced to retreat back inside its box. He managed to successfully cast _Riddikulus_ the fifth time, and then actually hit it around the tenth. It took a while for him to think of something funny because staring into the image of the Dark Lord isn’t exactly inspirational on that front, but he did eventually manage to conjure a small blue party hat on top of the boggart’s head, which actually did look quite comical above the black cloak it was wearing. Draco practiced all year- even when he was no longer scared at all in the presence of the boggart. It was only when he was sat in the Great Hall- the usually vibrant decorations now muted and grey- listening to the words Dumbledore used to honour the Hufflepuff boy Cedric Diggory, who had been killed by Lord Voldemort himself, did Draco feel the fear take hold once again.


End file.
